


Lovestruck

by AndreaLyn



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4744793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis' bright idea of finding Anne love via  speed-dating doesn't work out exactly as he's intending when Anne falls for the organizer rather than any of her dates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovestruck

“Aramis, why are we here?” 

The lobby of a four star hotel bar is a lovely place, but not exactly where Anne really wants to spend her Saturday evening. Especially not when she’s only recently become a free woman. When Aramis had rung her and vowed to take her out on the town to celebrate her coming out of the closet, she’d expected something a little … _else_. Maybe a club or a bar, somewhere that had a great deal of available women.

It’s been four weeks since Anne broke up with Louis, realizing that while she enjoyed their time together, it had been more a friendship and that the aspects of his looks she found attractive were his most feminine ones. Long ago crushes, like on Louis’ _sister_ (who had refused to leave Anne’s imagination for a solid three months at uni) had made her think and many drinks with Aramis had given her a new perspective on things.

Aramis simply jokes that now they’re a matched pair and are no longer in direct competition for men. “Not that it ever was a competition. As handsome as I am, you are a stunning jewel and I am always overlooked in your presence,” he’d always said of her.

“Look around, Anne,” Aramis coaxes, taking her by the shoulders to turn her towards the milling parties in the area. “Young, attractive, beautiful women.”

“All right, everyone,” a man announces from the bar area -- he’s holding several sheaths of papers in his large hands and bears a deep, commanding voice that appears to have Aramis already seeing stars by the dazed look on his face. “In five minutes, we’ll begin the event!”

“Are we here for the event or so you can ogle the organizer’s arse in those jeans?” Anne wonders wryly, hoping that she hasn’t been used again in order for Aramis to pull. 

“Speed dating,” Aramis says, sounding thrilled with himself for thinking up such an idea. “You’ll meet at least ten people tonight, the odds are you’ll like one of them.” And despite the logic, despite the good idea of it all, and despite Anne’s liking of the idea, she can’t help but notice how he’s still staring at the dark-skinned, gorgeously-built, curly-haired organizer who’s currently bent over clipboards with one of the most beautiful women that Anne has ever seen. She smoothes down her skirt in an attempt to ignore the impulse to slide her fingers over those lovely red locks of hair, but Anne is dismayed to find the feeling doesn’t go away.

“And are you participating?” she asks, when Aramis affixes her number to her lapel.

“And ruin the curve?” Aramis tuts. “I’ll be at the bar enjoying a drink while you look for love.”

“Would that happen to be a drink at the very same bar where your Adonis is currently sitting?” Anne dryly notes.

“How convenient,” Aramis says, as if it’s a wondrous coincidence. He leans in to kiss her left cheek. “Best of luck, darling,” he says, before kissing her on the right cheek. “Though, you’re the most gorgeous one here, so I doubt you’ll really need it.”

He abandons her after that, leaving her sputtering and indignant, but she supposes if she’s here for speed-dating, then she might as well enjoy herself. 

She must look lost, though, because the redhead that Anne had been staring at earlier wanders by with a sympathetic smile. Anne does her best not to flush, but her pale complexion makes that nearly impossible and she’s sure she’s already begun to pinken up at the proximity of someone she finds so attractive. “Which side of the room are you participating in?” the woman asks.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you here to meet other men, other women, or both?” the woman says with a warm smile. “Or neither, but that’s when you go to the bar.” She glances over her shoulder at the exact moment that Aramis has taken a stool next to his target for the night and sighs heavily. “Or usually the bar is safe. Poor man.”

“Poor man?” Anne echoes. “Why?”

“Porthos usually lets them down gently. He’s often a victim of being an attractive bystander,” she explains (and Anne wonders how this woman could say that and not have to make the same claim about herself). “I always tell him he ought to send them to the speed-dating round rather than out of here with disappointment.”

And yet, this Porthos doesn’t look entirely put out. Aramis has that way about him that makes him the exception to so many rules.

“I’m Constance,” the woman introduces herself. “Porthos and I run the speed-dating company. Can I show you to a side of the room?”

“Women,” Anne says firmly, though the question is long past by now. “I’m here to meet women.”

“You’ll have no trouble,” Constance promises, ducking her head down to make a note. If Anne didn’t know better, she’d think that Constance is flushed, but it could just be a trick of the light or her makeup, despite Anne’s wishes to the contrary. “I like when beautiful people like you and your friend show up. It’s great for business,” she promises, sliding her hand to the small of Anne’s back, guiding her to one side of the restaurant. “You’ll be here,” she instructs to the chair. “Don’t worry. The others will move to you. Five minutes per date,” she instructs, settling Anne down into her seat.

As quickly as she’d helped, she’s gone, leaving Anne somewhat bereft of the first friendly activity she’s had all evening outside of Aramis.

She settles in her chair, sitting perfectly straight and wonderfully patient for the first person to visit her. 

“Sofia,” her first date introduces herself, with a glint in her eye that’s rather sharp. It also, unfortunately, keeps drifting to one of the men on the other side of the room. Anne soon learns that Sofia isn’t looking for a partner as much as she’s aiming to become a trio. “Ferdinand and I would love someone as beautiful as you to help warm our bed.”

“Thank you, but I think I’m more of a bicycle girl, not so much a tricycle,” Anne jests, trying to nervously laugh off the come-on.

Her next date is meek and soft-spoken and for a moment, Anne feels practically experienced next to Fleur, who still isn’t sure she even wants to be here. “Only, my father said I have to start getting out of the house and start dating,” she explains, “and I’m not entirely sure I want _anyone_.”

Anne smiles and reaches out to supportively clasp Fleur’s hand. She does give her number to the girl, but mainly because she thinks the girl needs a friend and not really a girlfriend at the moment. While Anne may have her own doubts about finding someone at speed-dating, at least she knows she wants other women and isn’t merely striking out on her father’s wishes.

The next few women are strikeouts, too, followed by more disappointment. Ninon is far too bookish for Anne to feel like she can keep up, the girl who calls herself Flea is apparently only there to fill seats as a favour to Porthos, and Marguerite keeps staring at Aramis, despite her proffered interest in women. 

By the end of the evening, Anne feels somewhat bereft. The waiters are cleaning up the water glasses from each of the tables, but Anne hasn’t moved. Aramis is still in deep conversation at the bar and Anne feels like she needs a little longer to lick her wounds before she’s willing to interrupt Aramis when he seems to be having much more luck than her.

“One of those nights, eh?” Constance surprises her by refusing to let her sit it out alone.

Anne gives a rueful smile. “I promise, they were all perfectly fine, I just don’t think any of them were for me.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you after?”

Anne has to sit and let those thoughts percolate for a moment before she feels ready to answer.

“I want someone who’s in it for something real without it being overly dramatic and star-crossed lovers madness,” she says. “Beauty is hardly necessary, as I’m a firm believer that if you’ve a warm personality, there’s more than enough beauty in that.” She rubs her fingers over the table, glancing to the bar where Aramis is laughing warmly. “I want to laugh like that,” she says. “And have someone to hold at night. Someone who won’t mind going out on wild last-minute impetuous dates with me. Someone who’s patient and willing to cope with this being my first real relationship with another woman.”

“First timer? I remember that,” Constance admits. “I mean, at the time, I was seventeen and only just figuring out that I was bisexual. Her name was Therese,” she remembers fondly, ducking her head down to hide that beautiful smile that Anne would like to see so often. “It ended well enough, I suppose, but it was mostly just fooling around.”

“I’m a little too old for that,” Anne confesses. “Listen, Constance, do you think I could…”

Her valiant quest to get Constance’s phone number is interrupted, however, when Constance’s phone starts ringing. 

“Sorry,” Constance apologizes. “I have to take this. It’s our venue for next week,” she says, heading away from Anne and the table and moving so far away from Anne getting her phone number. Anne slumps back in her seat and watches Constance corral Porthos, the both of them heading outside.

It only figures that the one woman that Anne had been interested in all night runs away before she can get her contact information. If this is a modern day Cinderella, Anne doesn’t fancy getting out the tar to keep Constance here.

She settles for watching Aramis strut his way towards her, sitting in the chair opposite her like he’s one of her potential dates.

“Did he shoot you down? Constance says he shoots everyone down,” Anne says.

Aramis smirks as he holds out his palm, which contains permanent marker that is clearly a phone number. It doesn’t even look fake. “Constance, is it?” Aramis teases. “And when did you have time to find out about Constance?”

“When you abandoned me to spend the whole night flirting,” she accuses.

“No luck, then?”

“Not unless I want to be in a threesome, perpetually in a bookshop discussing self-identity, or act as a conduit to get to you,” she retorts, feeling somewhat abrasive given that tonight is essentially a strike-out. “How on earth did you get his number?”

“Simple,” Aramis replies with a delighted smile. “I didn’t ask for it.”

“What, he just gave it to you?”

“We talked, we had fun, and when Constance was pulling him away, he put his phone number on me so we could continue the conversation,” Aramis says, smiling brightly. “Which is good, because I wasn’t going to enjoy getting to my knees in a stall here, no matter how eager I am for it. The stains really never come out.”

Anne balls up her napkin and throws it at Aramis as she wrinkles her nose. “I told you I don’t want details of your sex life,” she protests, still upset that she hadn’t managed to get as far with Constance.

“You know,” Aramis muses, stroking his beard. “When I go out with Porthos next time, he’s bound to have his mobile on him. If I just happen to program my number in the phone and _accidentally_ send you Constance’s contact information…”

“No,” Anne cuts him off.

“Why not, it’s romantic!”

“It’s being a stalker!” she insists. “Maybe this is all a sign,” she suggests. “No, really. Aramis, maybe this is a sign that it’s not meant to happen with her.” 

Aramis seems unconvinced, but Anne hitches her purse up higher as she stands, hooking her arm in his to forcibly drag him away. She doesn’t want to stalk Constance to find out more about her and she certainly isn’t ready to do another round of speed-dating, given that it might make her seem like she’s opportunistically looking for one-night stands. 

“If the universe wants me to see her again, I’m sure it’ll send a signal,” Anne promises.

“Indeed,” Aramis replies, winding his arm into hers as he pats her hand reassuringly. “Anne, darling, I think you’re absolutely right. Let’s leave it to the universe.”

* * *

“Why do I have to come to this?” Anne asks, checking her reflection again to make sure she hasn’t lost one of her gold dangling earrings since the last time she checked. She usually doesn’t mind going out for a drink with Aramis, but going out for drinks with Aramis and Porthos makes her feel a little like a third wheel. 

_Especially_ because she still doesn’t trust Aramis not to pull something that has her bailing him out again – and with him, it sometimes means actually bailing him out of something like jail.

“He doesn’t usually go out with people who crash his sessions and I wanted to put him at ease,” Aramis insists, giving her a look that practically demands praise for his logic. “If you’re there, it’s a group outing and not a date.”

She eyes him warily for any duplicity, though she knows she’d never find it even if it were there. Aramis is far too good a liar. Sighing, she nods and gets out of the car, closing the door behind her as she shimmies on her heels to adjust her skirt. “If you start making out and forget I’m there, you’re banned from Friday movie night,” she warns.

“And miss our scheduled rewatch of Legally Blonde? I’d never,” he swears dramatically. “Here we are,” he says, escorting her to a small four-person outdoor table under the patio lights. He beams when just as soon as he’s sat down, he’s forced to stand up again to greet Porthos, who has just arrived to the restaurant.

…with Constance in tow.

Anne shoots Aramis a suspicious look, but doesn’t have time to ask before they both arrive. “Sorry,” Constance apologizes, easing her way in as she presses her clutch to her chest. “Porthos asked for some moral support and swore I wouldn’t be crashing his date. Looks like Aramis had a similar idea.”

“Oh, we’re very attuned,” Aramis promises, already shooting soppy looks in Porthos’ direction.

Usually, those looks go away once Aramis has slept with someone and Anne isn’t looking forward to the aftermath of this one. 

Everyone settles down at the table and the first round of drinks is ordered by Aramis flirting with the waiter until he brings everyone what they asked for (with possibly twice the amount of liquor that’s strictly allowed in those cocktails). Anne does her best not to let her gaze drift too often towards Constance, but it’s hard not to pay her any mind.

In the outdoor patio lights, her skin actually looks as if it’s shimmering and glowing. Her hair is twisted up in a chignon and she’s wearing a beautiful blue patterned sundress that falls easily off one shoulder. 

“Anne?”

Anne blinks back to awareness. “Sorry?”

“I was asking if you’d gotten any calls after your night with us,” Porthos prods, looking genuinely interested in what she has to say. “Constance said that you seemed to get a good amount of interest.”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t really feel it with any of them,” Anne replies, and though Porthos had asked her, her response is directly spoken to Constance. “I don’t think the night was entirely a bust, of course,” she’s quick to insist, not wanting to insult Constance’s methods of work and skills.

“We should give her a freebie,” Constance jokes. “On the house until you find love.”

Porthos grins warmly, making Anne suddenly feel much more settled. She’s starting to understand why Aramis feels so comfortable around him, since he seems so eager to put everyone at ease. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off when his phone chirps at him. He frowns and digs it out, staring at it and cursing under his breath.

“Problem?” Aramis asks worriedly.

“Charon,” Porthos sighs, giving Constance a hapless shrug. “Turned up at Flea’s place again.” He grasps his napkin and places it on the table. “I hate to do this, I really do, but can I steal Aramis away and leave the two of you here? Rain cheque?” he pleads. “I could use some backup, given what happened last time.”

Constance reaches over to squeeze Porthos’ hand. “Of course. Wouldn’t want you to show up looking like a pincushion again.”

Anne gives her a curious look and Constance shakes her head to say that she’ll explain after. In the hustle and the rush, Anne hardly realizes what’s happening until Aramis kisses her temple and then suddenly, Anne and Constance are sitting alone on a patio and a bottle of wine is being presented to them. 

Anne pales as she wonders whether they’ve been set up, but Porthos had seemed genuinely distraught. Besides that…

“Pincushion?”

Constance nods to the waiter to approve of the wine, arranging Porthos’ discarded napkin until it’s folded neatly. “Charon, Flea, and Porthos go way back. Unfortunately, Charon isn’t taking his breakup with Flea well and keeps pestering her. The last time Porthos went to tell him off, they got in a scuffle and Porthos ended up landing on a bit of a mess. He looked like a pincushion for days.” She gestures to the table. “I hope you don’t mind if we stay?” she says hopefully. “I was sort of hoping that I could get in contact with you again, but you were gone by the time I came back from my phone call.”

Anne sits back in her chair, a touch stunned. “So you could sign me up for the next session?” she asks warily, trying to rule out all the possibilities.

“Actually, I was sort of getting the vibe that you liked me,” Constance says, biting her lower lip as she gives Anne the most hopeful look she’s ever seen. “Am I way off base?”

“No,” Anne admits, laughing with sheer relief. “Oh my god, I really like you. I mean, you were basically the only woman that I met all evening that I felt any potential with.” She’s flushed and overwhelmed, feeling disbelief. “You seriously like me?”

“I think I’d have to be blind and an idiot not to,” Constance replies. “You’re beautiful, but also so kind. I watched the way you let your dates down and you never let them leave feeling like they were at fault. I won’t lie, there was a point that I started to get a little jealous.”

“You were?” Anne asks, thrilled as she leans forward to get as many details as she possibly can. “Why didn’t you say anything!”

“After years of telling Porthos it’s a bad idea to pull at work, I wasn’t going to go against my own rules. Luckily, he broke them first,” Constance says cheerfully. “How did Aramis do it? Honestly, I’ve seen many people try and he’s the first one not to strike out.”

“He’s got very special skills,” Anne says, not wanting to spend the whole date talking about Aramis. She reaches across the table to casually take Constance’s hand in her own, a hopeful feeling blossoming in her. “Is this okay?” she checks, relaxing when Constance nods firmly, keeping her glass of wine in her other hand, the ring on her pinky finger clacking against the glass with every motion.

“Now,” Constance says. “Tell me everything about yourself.”

“Bit of a tall order!”

“I like to start big,” Constance says, grinning eagerly. “I promise, I want to hear it all.”

* * *

After a successful first accidental date, Anne had taken Constance to the beach _without_ the group there to help them out first, and now she’s treated Constance out to dinner at her very favourite Italian restaurant. They’ve just finished the walk back to Anne’s place and are lingering on the doorstep because while it’s only been a few dates, Anne feels like she’s ready to move the relationship slightly along to the next level.

She’s not ready for things to become fully physical, but baby steps means they don’t have to go all the way just yet. When Constance makes to leave, Anne tugs on her hand, easing her right back into her personal space.

Constance tips her head back, as if rather than trying to hide her laugh, she’s putting it on display. “Aramis warned me about all the things he taught you,” Constance teases, but she ducks her head down in time to show off her devious grin.

“He’s a liar,” Anne replies, twining her fingers with Constance’s as she tries to get her inside. “He’ll never tell you, but his first kiss was with me,” she brags. “And he was awful.”

Constance laughs warmly, hiding her smile in Anne’s neck. Anne shivers for the close proximity, but takes the opportunity to slide her hands around Constance’s waist as she gives her door a nudge and begins to pull her inside. 

“Are you sure?” Constance asks softly.

“If you are,” Anne agrees. “Maybe nothing more than kissing you and a bit of light groping…”

“You old romantic,” Constance teases. “It’s practically poetry, _light groping_.”

Anne blushes, but still feels like she’s ahead given that she’s managed to get Constance over to her plush, comfortable massive couch. It practically swallows you whole and Anne is eager to get Constance down into it. With a light push, she’s able to crawl overtop her, getting comfortable as she straddles Constance’s thighs and takes her time cupping Constance’s beautiful cheeks, studying every inch of her face now that she’s so close to it.

“What are you doing?” Constance asks, clearly embarrassed by the way she flushes so thoroughly.

“I’m staring at the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Anne replies, and while she knows she’s opening herself up to be mocked, she’s also not flattering. Anne is utterly and totally sincere when she says this, amazed at how beautiful Constance is. 

Rather than tease her back, Constance simply goes an even darker shade of red, wrapping up her fingers in Anne’s as she pulls her down. It’s almost perfect the way that when she kisses Constance, that fluttery feeling in her stomach seems to explode into a thousand butterflies that only make her shivers worse when Constance leans up to respond to the kiss.

She’s forward with her hands, the one of them sliding under the hem of Anne’s silk shirt, feather-light touches on the skin that makes goosebumps raise up and pebble the area Constance is touching, which only makes Anne moan sweetly into the kiss.

What little control she’d had earlier begins to slip away as they kiss more and more, and soon hours have passed and they both look a mess. Anne reaches up to try and tame Constance’s wild hair, laughing fondly.

“I should offer to rebraid that for you,” she says, biting her lower lip, “Only I think I’d rather offer to make more of a mess?”

She goes red in her cheeks, not used to being this forward. Being as pretty as she is, she’s used to men approaching her, but this is the first time in her life that she’s actively pursuing someone she really, really likes. It makes her nervous because she thinks that it’s reciprocated completely. 

Constance’s eyes flick over to one of the closed doors and though Anne knows she doesn’t want to go too fast, she also doesn’t want to waste the opportunity. 

“We’ll go as fast as both of us want,” Constance promises, squeezing Anne’s hand as she guides her to her feet. It’s early morning now, and the moon shining in through Anne’s windows cast Constance in an ethereally beautiful glow. Anne holds just that much tighter to her, as if she might escape back to whatever dell she belongs in, a moonlit nymph of beauty as she is.

Scared, but still excited, Anne agrees with a nod and lets Constance lead the way.

That night doesn’t lead to much at all, but they get better at it. They explore each other together with caution and care, adoration and amusement. It takes nearly two weeks for Anne to get comfortable enough to take off all of her clothes in front of Constance, but she needn’t have worried. Constance just reaches up to tug her into the bath and holds her tightly, pressing soft kisses to Anne’s bare shoulder and promising that she’s every bit as lovely on the outside as she is on the inside.

They both vow not to move too quickly, so they keep separate flats and spend a long time just getting to know each other. Constance learns about Anne’s worst fear – sharks in swimming pools, followed very closely by spiders in bedrooms – and Constance promises that she’s excellent at both crushing spiders and punching sharks. They talk about their ex-boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, and inappropriate crushes, as well as their jobs.

Two months later, it’s still going so very well that Anne is worried to jinx it, but she thinks if it’s solid by now, she’s got a good thing going.

“Well?” she prods Aramis, having sat down to coffee with him for their weekly meeting. They’ve both been busy and have missed the last two, but that’s her fault as much as his. “Did Porthos finally let you out of bed?”

“Don’t joke,” Aramis huffs. “The man is every bit as strong as he looks.”

“You sound gleeful,” she accuses, but can’t begrudge Aramis his happiness, especially given that he’s so very happy. “Oh, I invited Athos to join us,” she says, sipping her latte. She knows the chances of him actually joining are slim to nil, but after spending so much time happy and seeing Aramis pleased, her thoughts have turned to their quieter friend.

Aramis seems equally disinclined to believe Athos will actually show up. “He needs to find someone,” is what he says. “I know not everyone can blossom in love like you, but even Athos deserves someone after his last debacle of a relationship.”

Anne blushes, well aware that Aramis is getting the brunt of her happy texts and photos, the chronicles of her relationship’s progress, but he doesn’t seem to mind (and she gets her fair share from his instagram feed, which has been a slideshow of happy couple moments for him, too). 

“I’d ask if things are going well, but it’s obvious they are,” Aramis says. “Have you said the big three yet?”

“Two weeks ago, when she took us out for wine tastings,” Anne agrees, still remembering the warm flutter and the all-encompassing joy that had surrounded her to hear those words. “And you and Porthos?”

“We’ve spent the first six weeks on a purely physical basis. We’re just getting around to the relationship,” Aramis admits, kicking back in his chair to enjoy his cinnamon sugar latte. He seems to be considering something and it looks eerily familiar, like the look he’d gotten on his face before Anne wound up at matchmaking rounds. 

“What is it?” she says.

“Well, we are dating two very convenient people when it comes to finding Athos someone,” he points out, so matter-of-factly that she can barely hear the restrained glee in his voice at the shenanigans to come. “It would be terrible of us not to exploit those connections for the good of a friend.”

Any other time and Anne might have chastised Aramis for shoving Athos forward when he’s clearly not ready to be, but Constance has made mention that she has a good friend that goes by d’Artagnan that would suit Athos perfectly. It’s only come up casually once or twice, but Aramis is like a dog with a bone.

If Athos is going to be forced into doing something by Aramis, at least Anne will rest assured knowing that he might end up happy at the end of it.

“Why am I frightened?”

Speak of the devil. Anne looks up to find Athos staring at them warily, looking as worn and exhausted as ever. She pats the seat next to him, smiling beatifically. 

“Did I come today just to hear about your happy relationships? Because I can still leave,” he warns.

“Athos, dear friend,” Aramis begins cheerfully, “don’t worry. We have a plan.”

“And before you argue,” Anne hurries to jump in, “I promise it will be good for you. My girlfriend has a lovely young friend who goes by d’Artagnan and we happen to think you two would be just right…”

The word _girlfriend_ still resonating happily in her ears, Anne settles in to the long haul task of finding Athos someone to be happy with, and if it just so happens to be someone that she can double-date (triple-date, really, at this point) with Constance at her side, then the more the merrier.

There’s more than enough love to go around, after all.


End file.
